A short but joyful respite from the long, frustrating idleness
Issue 29 : Mar/Apr 2003
Breaking out of the low gray winter clouds for the first time in days, the sun illuminates only brown grass and leafless trees. Even with the promise of spring’s warmth a few short weeks ahead, the sun’s warm rays today are a deception. The few fleeting hours they shine down this afternoon are a tease. When the sun sets at the end of this foreshortened winter day, the temperature will drop back to its winter register, once again locking the world in cold.
For these few hours, however, I intend to disregard the calendar. As if it’s a warm spring day, I go sailing. Walking down the creaking planks of the floating dock, I see my sailboat waiting forlornly in its slip, perceptibly neglected these last few months. Dirty and bare, stiff with cold, she sits patient as the Sphinx. Opening the companionway and looking into the boat is like looking into a hollowed out pumpkin. The colorful cushions that normally add brightness are tucked away in the garage at home along with the dishcloths and bright swim towels. The sun, low and far away, doesn’t illuminate the windows as it does in warm summertime. A single empty coffee cup sits on the stove.
Protesting its winter awakening with a cloud of light blue smoke, the diesel chugs to life reluctantly. The steady beat of the single cylinder creates the illusion of warmth, but my breath, visible in the cold air, keeps the illusion at bay. The dock-lines, stiff with idleness, grudgingly release their grip.
We back out of the slip, breaking the neat symmetry of the long line of winterized boats that nuzzle the dock, tied to electric lines like calves at the teat. Free of the confines of the marina, the diesel is now happily warm and purring smoothly. We unbag the sails and shake out the lines. As we head up, the main lies flaccid and weak, hanging wrinkled and lifeless from the halyard. But as we fall off and the breeze begins to come across the beam, an amazing transformation takes place almost in the blink of an eye. The sails come to life, snapping, full of the cold air. Suddenly the boat is alive and straining at her sheets like a racehorse. Winter is banished in that moment.
Heeling over and accelerating, the boat celebrates this reprieve from the weeks tied to the dock by eagerly driving forward. When I shut off the noisy hammering of the diesel, silence fills the air with a wonderful clarity.
Fully alive now, we race along. The only sounds are the swish of the hull through the water and the creak of halyards and stays as she flexes her muscles like an awakening athlete. The breeze is still cold, but underneath, like a bud breaking through the snow, lies the promise of warm breezes and sunny days. Spring seems close enough to touch.
After a few short hours of prancing on the water like a spring colt, we are driven back to the slip by lengthening shadows. The sun, settling into the horizon like an old man settling into a favorite chair, casts long black shadows as it grows dim. Today’s pleasant, but chilly, winter sail was warmed by the anticipation of times to come. As I walk away, boat secured once again, I look back.
I swear I see a gleam in her eye.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
